The 12 Days of Christmas
by Little Obsessions
Summary: Some said it was a Christian carol, others a meaningless festive ditty but as always they have their own way of adressing the 12 days of Christmas. Involves all of the Addams Family.
1. A Partridge in a Pear Tree

I'm sure you can guess where the rest of the chapters are going =)

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><p>There was a rested, mournful quiet that fell over the house at this time of the year. Snow, bright and thick, lay across the grounds of their home. It served only to remind him of the whiteness of her skin, untouched by age nor marred by experience. And the coldness of that very skin when it was pressed against his. But his mind, though far more pleasant when occupied with matters of her, was being challenged by others. Morticia was quite the task master at this time of year - particularly when it came to the festive decorations.<p>

"A little to the left," she smiled, tearing his attention away from the window. The master of all she surveyed, from her viewpoint on the chaise lounge, he followed her command. His perfectly clean shirt was now damp with sweat and creased from the exertion of heaving about the piece of lumber that he was currently balancing between his shoulder and arm. He had untied his tie, removed his waistcoat and pulled his scapula all in an effort to please her. It smelled of rot and all but a few of the green pines had fallen from the branches. It looked delightful.

"A little to the right."

"You mean back to where it was," Pugsley grumbled, pulling on it with all the force he could muster.

"I guess that will have to do," she came towards them as they heaved it into place in the base, made form the finest pewter.

"It is splendid Gomez," she smiled, stepping back to observe all seven feet of it.

"Isn't it," he lit a celebratory cigar, having sated her need for aesthetic perfection.

"Just over there Lurch," she pointed to the corner of the parlour, where the butler dumped a number of boxes, overflowing with the decorations they had accumulated over the years.

"I get to put the topper on," Pubert pulled out the angel, complete with black wings and pitchfork. Morticia admired it, he could see, with unbridled delight. She smiled at her youngest son and took the decoration from his hand.

"But of course you can," she laughed lowly, placing it on the sideboard, "But right now, we must start with the lights."

Electrics, Gomez had always thought, were no where near as thrilling as they could be - every retailer insisted on making them safe. This meant that every year, when Morticia bought the fairy lights, he spent hours stripping them of the wire-casing; hands gentle and patient. They made the tree sizzle ferociously, and made quite the visual spectacle. Next came the decorations, Thing lending a hand of course, to hang the small bird bones, the stuffed mice, and broken baubles that they had collected over the years. They hung the black satin ribbons that Morticia had hand-made the first year of their marriage with nostalgic care. Mamma, thoughtful as ever, had made cyanide and blackcurrant candy-canes, which they had to insist that Pugsley did not scoff with ardour before they had the chance to decorate the barren branches with them.

Gomez hoisted his youngest onto his shoulders and all of them, Pugsley, Pubert, Lurch and his wife stood back to admire their work. He looked at the tree, glittering with malice, and thought of how this time of year only ever produced the most vivid of memories. He looked at his wife- her serene, usually unreadable face glittered with muted joy.

"The topper!" Pubert swung the angel in front of his face.

"Alright little pup," he stepped forward and allowed the boy to place it on the topmost branch that extended to the ceiling. He swung the little boy onto the floor and stretched his arms out.

"Excellent job," he laughed into the warmth of the room, "And all at the behest of you, my dear."

"Wait! Wait!"

The door the parlour swung open and Wednesday came in, full of unusual urgency. Gomez thought it odd that this season changed the women in his family so much. Wednesday seemed to soften a little, Morticia seemed more open to the less sophisticated joys of life, Mamma made more treats for the children.

"Wednsday, we looked for you, but we couldn't find you."

Morticia smiled gently and motioned her daughter over. Under the pale skin he saw the fire of a red blush and his daughter took her hands from behind her back. In it she held a partridge, blood pouring from a shot-gun wound to it's chest.

"I was out getting this," she offered by way of embarrassed explanation, "Doesn't every real tree have one?"

She walked up to the tree and placed it gently on a middle branch which sagged under the weight of the lifeless body and the blood oozing forth from the carcass.

"Now," Morticia smiled at him, "That is a Christmas tree."


	2. Two Turtle Doves

Thanks for the reviews for the first chapter.

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><p>Wednesday Addams could only hold one person responsible for this; herself. She, for all she was an Addams, was only capable of handling the pain she readily inflicted on herself. This was pain like she had never thought existed. This was the agony she had dreamed about. The realities of it differed greatly from the expectations. The snow gathered in the corners of the windows as she stared out into the bleak night in a vain attempt to distract herself from the clenching agony taking place in her small, traumatised body. It had been Lucas's only request; that she come to a hospital. And at Christmas of all occasions. She knew her mother, quiet and serene, would be nursing her frantic father in a waiting room somewhere down the corridor. She wished she had never met him in the first place. Wished she had never thought to have a child. Wished she had never said yes to his marriage proposal. Wished she had never had those ludicrous maternal twinges. She wished a lot of things in these moments.<p>

Lucas held her hand tightly and chanted that ridiculous breathing method he had no-doubt picked up from some melodramatic television show. She did not have the breath to tell him that all of her energy was focused on doing the job at hand and that breathing was only a secondary option.

Her mother had enjoyed this? But then again her mother had a torture threshold that Wednesday could never dream of aspiring to. This was something so entirely different though that she barely believed it was possible….

Relief came, eventually. And her exhaustion was absolute. She had not uttered a word, not broken sweat – but she was blinded with fatigue. And the doctor, so white and clinical that she was near to vomiting, proffered two swaddled bundles. She immediately ordered Lucas to rid her children of the pastels in which they had been so un-thoughtfully wrapped and wrap them in a sensible, comfortable gray woolen blanket. They stared at her with saucer eyes.

"Well done, Wednsday."

She allowed herself a moment of satisfaction as she stared down at the little bundles, held tightly in the crook of both arms. She was overcome by a tender, frightening need to love them forever and was woefully overwhelmed by the notion that all of that agony had been worth it for them. She looked up at her husband and he smiled back at her. She could see pride etched all over his face. He bent to kiss her gently on the lips and she thought of how the only thing in the world that she felt for this man was love.

"You did so well," Lucas touched her face gently and she did not shy away.

For what seemed like forever, they studied the small bodies that moved every so often in their arms, until Lucas left to tell her parent's. One, a girl, dark and pale like her mother and grandmother but round faced and with a mouth that turned up at the corners. The boy, olive skinned and darker, with low-lidded eyes and pink lips. All in all, Wednesday thought quietly to herself, they were the most amazing looking creatures she had ever laid eyes on.

The door to the room opened quietly and her mother and father entered. She could see that her father had she a tear or two but was holding up remarkably well, considering that she was sure he counted this amongst his worst nightmares.

"Congratulations my darlings," her mother whispered, "But congratulations, in particular, to you Wednesday."

"Brava, paloma," Gomez laughed slightly as he stared at the two children in her arms. He pointed at the boy, "Looks exactly like me."

"Poor boy," Wednesday muttered, "Where's Pugs?"

"In the waiting room," Morticia answered, her voice quiet and measured.

Wednesday looked down at her children, "Wait to you see the things your uncle and I will teach you…you will have so much fun. You're lucky to have each other. What day is it?"

"Friday," Lucas answered, a knowing smile crossing his features, "The 13th."

"Welcome to the world my two turtle doves…."

A demonic smile crossed Wednesday's features and the children let up a wail. Her two turtle doves were truly the most wonderful Christmas gifts ever.


	3. Three French Hens

Three French Hens

Gomez climbed the stairs to the attic, the rickety wood creaking underneath him. He was looking for something in particular and would not be diverted in his quest. The attic was large and for the most part full of abandoned heirlooms that were maintained not through necessity but nostalgia. He went to a far corner of the attic and threw open the first trunk that his eyes found with a great sense of purpose. Morticia had said that it was in a trunk and they needed to get it wrapped and under the tree before the children returned. That was all the hurried, and rather vague, information she had given him. A plume of dust erupted from within it and as it cleared he stared at the mess within. It was not what he was looking for but nor could he deny the fact that he was immediately enthralled. He had all but forgotten about this trunk; life had taken off and he had left it behind. It was full to the brim with photographs. He plunged his hand into the pile, pulling out a small, black and white print. He had forgotten about this photograph; though the events were clean and glistening in his memory. It was the photograph from Camp Custer - shark fins, striped bathing suits. He placed it aside; the memories too painful perhaps. He plunged his hand in again. It was a photograph from his cousin's funeral; she had been in that room on that very night. But he could not see her in the background. He smiled - the photo was a marker of that life before. A life he would scarcely recognise now. He placed it with more confidence in the trunk and pulled out another. This one was less recognisable and he had to sift through his bank of memories before he was able to recall any such event. He was transported back to a seedy, delightful little nightclub in Paris. It was Christmas and he was on his grand tour. He knew this because in the background of the photo there was a huge Christmas tree and sparkling lights. He could have been no older than 19, perhaps 20 at the oldest. And there were three of the most delightful women, if he could have called them that, that he had ever known at that tender age. They spoiled him in every way a man could be spoiled. Sirens, the brides of Dracula. In the photo, he was surrounded by all three of them. For the life of him, he could not remember any of their names but he could remember how terribly experienced the blonde one was. He looked at his younger self and failed to match it with the man he was now. Family man. Loving husband. A father trying to find that elusive Christmas present your wife insists she has bought your son but has no idea where she may have hidden it. He laughed lightly to himself.

"A private joke?"

He turned to face his wife and smiled lightly. He held out the photograph to her and she took it in her pale, spindly fingers.

"Reminiscing?" She took it from him. He watched her face, a shadow falling over its impenetrable beauty. She studied the image carefully and looked at him with a raised eye brow.

"I truly hope you weren't reminiscing," she smiled enigmatically.

"Cara mia, how could you even suggest they could hold a candle to you?"

He sullied towards her and tossed the photo aside, into the piles of accoutrements, trunks, shackles and baby toys that littered the huge attic. She laughed lightly and allowed him to pull her against his body.

"I didn't mon amour."

"No…because it would be absurd," he began kissing her neck lightly.

"Who were those women?"

"Just three French hens," he grumbled into the mass of black hair.

"Oh but mon cour, mon sauvage, mon dieu…" she allowed him to pull her down on to the floor, "Did they speak French to you?"

Her face feigned dissapointment of the innocent variety but behind that was hidden a far more sinister intention. He could barely answer, so enthralled was he with the gold that was dripping from her tongue. More natural than her mother tongue, more intense than anything she could ever do. Every word was a lash against his skin.

"Not as well as you can, my little raven….so much better than any French hen."

Pugsley, it was safe to say, would not get his knives until they had satisfied their wants.


	4. Four Calling Birds

Calling Birds

Wednesday Addams hated the festive season. It was bright, obnoxious, capitalist and in short, a dreadfully protracted affair. Her only saving grace was her family who made it all but bearable. And the gifts, she enjoyed the gifts. She stared at the poster in front of her. An amateur work of art, printed in the school reprographics room, to encourage the need of the student body to celebrate this season with the dreaded adolescent torture; the school dance. She felt her soul rot a little as she thought of the horror of the school dance. Her parent's always held their annual Christmas eve ball and that was terribly social enough without this being added to her mournful seasonal experience.

"Ohhh but Brittanny, it's going to be so awesome."

Wednesday cringed inwardly. Awesome. She wasn't sure where her loathing for this word had begun but she was positive that it must have been around her junior year. It appeared to her that you had to use this word to have a chance of being remotely tolerated in high school. You also had to have blonde hair and father's who drove Mercedes. All of these she could live, and survive, without.

She turned her pigtailed head to look at the bunch of over-perfumed, over-zealous girls at her side. All four of them were breathtakingly stupid as they called out to each other about what outfits they might choose to wear or what boy they might go with. It was not lost on Wednesday how detached she was from these four girls, squawking loudly and to each other like demented pigeons. But oddly, unlike any other reject, it did not make her feel sad. In fact she felt an upsurge of true happiness as she thought of the party her parents would hold and how herself and her brother would intentionally poison a relative and take a wager on who went into anaphylactic shock first. And Lucas would be there. Perhaps that was her saving grace; she need not worry about what she would wear. He didn't care anyway; he loved her because she didn't worry about things like that. And she may even permit him to dance with her. She looked more forward to that moment when she could stare out into the ballroom and see her parent's dancing, her uncle chewing on a light bulb, her grandma drinking from a bottle of sherry and think that it was the festive season that she most enjoyed; if only for a moment. The school dance could have their calling birds; she had the most woeful festive season and Addams could wish for.


	5. Five Gold Rings

5 Golden Rings

Morticia Addams had one piece of jewelery she prised above all; her wedding ring. She stared at it as it glittered in the dim light of her dressing room. A constant reminded of who she was tied to. She never removed it. The house was quiet but if she listened intently she could hear him faintly whistling as he shaved in the adjacent bathroom. The children were out, Lurch and Fester had taken them to see the exhibition on torture as an early Christmas present. Then the would take the children to one of those old-fashioned horror movies because they always spoiled them beyond belief at this time of year. It was only two days until Christmas and she was very grateful for the moments she could steal with him.

She enjoyed this quiet; the peaceful cold of the house. The offer of solitude and some time with her husband. This time of year always proved itself so hectic that they often came to January and realised they had barely had time to be alone. So he had arranged a dinner for just them on this night. He never ceased to be romantic and it pleased her greatly.

She pulled the small, elaborate and decadent drawer of her jewelery box out. In here she kept her most prised items. They very expensive things were kept in the vault but these items she could not bear to part with, even if they had cost him ludicrous amounts of money.

First was a silver ring, plain and beautiful, inscribed with the words 'L'amour toujours.' He presented it to her on their first Christmas all those years ago along with a riding crop and her first ever mink coat. A simple, sturdy and everlasting promise.

The next one was far more decadent. Rubies and diamonds. The ruby was the colour of blood and encircled with glittering diamonds. It was heavy to wear but tremendously beautiful. It had been mined in Myanmar at the turn of the century and the setting commissioned by him for their 10th anniversary. It made her feel giddy with anticipation of the blood that would be spilled tonight, a festive, red colour. She stowed it away. It's ostentatiousness did not match the occasion.

She lifted the next one from the box. A simple pearl, fetched from the depths of the ocean at his command, set in gold and gifted to her on the occasion of Wednesday's birth. It represented the purity of the life she had brought into the world he told her. She decided against that one too. It was too pure for this occasion, to gentle a reminder of her role as a mother. She did not want to be a mother tonight, she wanted to be a wife.

She sighed lightly and closed the drawer over, instead opening the top and running her fingers over the delicate chains and necklaces.

"Something wrong my dear?"  
>"No darling," she swiveled on the dresser stool to face him. She watched as his eyes studied her body; he was not dissatisfied she could see. His lips curled into a smile of promise.<p>

"I'm merely trying to choose some jewelery for tonight."

"With the inordinate amount you have that should not pose a problem," he laughed lightly, "But of course, it always helps to have another choice."

He took his hand from behind his back and held out a small, beribboned, black box to her. She stood up and came towards him as he held it out to her. She smiled softly, masking her excitement.

"It's not time for father Christmas yet Gomez," she cocked an eye brow.

"But Morticia, I couldn't possibly have you so distressed over a lack of jewelery. Not when there are other more…pressing matters."

She had to concede that her husband could be subtle when he wished; she had barely noticed his hand creeping onto her rear but this was brought to her attention when he squeezed it playfully. She laughed with delight and taking the box from him, greedily untied the ribbon with all the patience she could muster. She let the lid fall to the floor. Inside there was a ring, a black stone mounted on what she imagined was platinum.

"It's taken me years to find the perfect black diamond," he whispered casually, "Of course, it was entirely worth it."

She smiled at him, allowing him to slip the ring onto her finger.

"Gomez, you spoil me," she sullied from the dressing room and made her way towards the bed, "These are so very rare."  
>"One must go to all lengths in order to please the one they love particularly during the Christmas season…," he followed her quietly, removing his shirt as he did so, "And I do so love you."<p>

"What gift shall I give you?"

She spread herself out on the satin sheets, red in honour of the season, and smiled languidly. He had never seen so delightful a Christmas offering. The ring glittered on her finger, the same dark, deep glitter in her eyes. She would keep this in her jewelery box. She would cast aside the dinner reservation in favor of this evening with him.

"Mmm," he stared at her, words failing him as she began to untie her robe.

She could only wager that she was the best Christmas present he ever received.


	6. 6 Geese-a-Laying

Thank you for reading. Sorry about the delay in this particular story.

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><p>It was not a secret in the family that some members greatly disapproved of his wife. In fact, it was something a good few of them were quite vociferous about. He had never wanted to know why; though they had made it quite well known exactly what they thought of her. They thought her haughty and aloof. He knew them to loathe her because of her beauty and candor. But worse than that, they saw her as a harlot. Easy. This was the worst and most unfair of all their judgments. Because he knew it to be false. His wife was far from their interpretation. They had made assumptions because of the unusual way in which their relationship had begun and had never cared to look into the facts. It suited them to pin their delicate hatred on his beautiful wife.<p>

There were six of them in particular; all of them sure that they were in the position of being able to preside over all judgments because of age or perceived position. He watched them as they convened, as they did on an annual basis, at the far end of the ballroom, nearest as always to the sherry and brandy. Two were his aunties, one was a spinster and rather unbecoming cousin and the other one was a friend of one of his aunts who had ensconced herself in the family a very long time ago. She had attended their wedding just to get a glimpse of Morticia and in order to make a foundation on which she could build her malice. Then worst of all the Amore twins had joined the coven some years ago and completed the six. They were the most vicious of all because they envied his wife.

It made his blood boil with fury.

But he knew that it was ill-mannered to pretend they were not there. And it would upset a great number of people if he did not invite them. He strode towards them, making sure that his wife was otherwise occupied at the far end of the ballroom. And she was, she was chatting animatedly with her friend Carmen. He smiled as he watched her. He tried to shield her from them but she was no stupid woman. However this was where his wife shone most brightly; when she was being devious. They had sniped things before but she had brushed them off with the ease of one so confident that he wondered if it really wounded her at all.

"Gomez," his aunt Eldora, bristling beard and cane came shuffling towards him. He braced himself.

"Aunt, how are you?"

"Fine fine," she motioned to Pugsley and Wednesday, who were loitering around the punch bowl rather suspiciously, "Isn't their mother keeping an eye on them, they should be shackled to their beds by now."

Already, he thought with gloom, it had begun. It wasn't that they went out of their way to insult his wife, it was that they inferred weakness in her character by feigning concern.

"No," he waived an airy, dismissive hand, "It's Christmas and they are enjoying themselves."

"You ought to be more strict," she waived her cane in the air, "My mother would never have let me be up so late…"

He crumbled lightly inside as he seen the Amore twins shuffling towards him from the corner of his eye. He had thought that he might speak to one of them and avoid the rest of the old geese for the night but evidently not. They were all descending with the courtesy of ravenous lions to ensure that he knew exactly where he was going wrong and how he might remedy it.

"Gomez Addams," one of the chimed.

He had never smelt the breeze of her hair so swiftly, so readily, in his entire life. Morticia slithered up beside him, though he could not guess how she had moved so quickly in that small space of time. Her hand rested on the small of his back and she smiled radiantly at the twins.

"Morticia," one of them laughed but Gomez could see the falseness in it. It sounded like the squawking of unnatural birds. He was sure the more aggressive one was Fauna.

"Hello," she answered quietly, and then placed her mouth tantalisingly close to his ear, "I would like to dance."

Gomez was not, for a moment, under any illusion that this was truly her intention. Morticia wanted, in reality, to put as much space between her spouse and these women and dancing was the way to get him to do anything. Anything.

"Whatever the lady wants, she gets."

He took her by the hand. They were not quick out of ear-shot, and it was said loudly enough by his aunt so that they would hear it quite audibly.

"…And he bends to the harlot's whim as well…"

He felt Morticia's hand go rigid in his but she displayed no other sign of having heard it. He took her in his arms, felt the ice of her hand in his. The corners of her mouth had turned from that genuine, delicious smile into an oddly false one. He looked into her obsidian eyes and read, for a split second, humiliation. Rage coursed through him but to do anything about it would only feed their ardour.

"Ignore those ancient harpies," he whispered quietly as he waltzed her around the floor.

"I have, for all of our marriage," she answered quietly, "Perhaps their assertion is right, perhaps I am a harlot. But I am your harlot."

"Cara mia," he kissed her knuckles as he moved her effortlessly, "They're just six old geese a-laying, as the carol goes."

"Six geese I wouldn't hesitate to behead," she whispered quietly and his laugh rung out around the ballroom.

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><p>A story that has taken nearly a year. Sorry but it is the season...<p>

Please review.


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